Friday, September 25, 2015
epnews.com
Days take longer to unfurl in crisp, heavy, early morning late September air, wanly awaiting the slow-rising sun’s marginal warmth with diminished anticipation of comfort; above timberline sharp October winds muster, harbingers of impending Winter. How much longer will those two bald eagles perch atop the power pylons along the causeway? For years on my run around Lake Estes I trotted—okay, walked fast—past a sign without noticing. A few weeks ago I paused, read it and winced: “Slow –- Steep Grade -- Pass slowly on the left and give a verbal warning before passing.” My personal code embraces diversity in and multiple usages of our mother tongue, but the thought of handing someone a note instead of calling out a warning breached my common sense. “Verbal warnings” come in two flavors: one is in writing, the other is spoken. The event prompted thoughts about appropriate use of The King’s English and our quest for effective communication. “…Some people still want to use the language well. They want to write effectively; they want to speak effectively. They want their language to be graceful at times and powerful at times. They want to understand how to use words well, how to manipulate sentences, and how to move about in the language without seeming to flail. They want good grammar, but they want more; they want rhetoric in the traditional sense. They want to use language deftly so that it’s fit for their purposes.” Brian Garner, Garner’s Modern American usage (2003) You probably don’t like Language Police any more than I do; at fourteen I invented the following mantra: “English is the way you use it.” Nonetheless I cherish Lincoln’s letter to Mrs. Bixby, which Roy Cook labels “a model of purest English, rarely, if ever, surpassed.” I understood from George Bernard Shaw that England and America are two countries separated by the same language, yet immersed myself in Shakespeare’s vocabulary (29,000 individual words—my contemporaneous King James Bible employs only 7,000). The ringing clarity of the Preamble to the United States Constitution, the Declaration of Independence and “I Have A Dream” enrapture me. Further, I enjoy Ernest Hemingway’s spare prose, Gertrude Stein’s rhythmic cadence, James Joyce’s stream of consciousness, Dorothy Parker’s dry wit, James Thurber’s satirical fables and Jane Austen’s romantic realism. Well-written English fulfills me. To be honest with you, I really mean that.
For me myself good writing is the au jus sauce on a good story, and for all intensive purposes I await with baited breath any new Lee Child or C.J. Boxx, irregardless of the plot (can I suggest the latest Reacher to you?). The reason is because I am, like, totally into books. Anyways, from my prospective when writing is very unique I could care less about work nor other obligations; even tho I’m suppose to get up early I’m a shoe-in to stay up all night with my nose literally buried in a book. I love each discreet page, although I’ll be decimated the next day and in danger of dying suddenly from lack of sleep. Take it as a complement to American writers; they’re doing good. For me the principal is read, read and read some more. That’s what’s up. If you breezed through that last hodgepodge of deathless prose without cringing, you might want to read it again. By my count at least twenty-eight (count ‘em) grammar and spelling errors assail the reader and pollute the paragraph. I will review some of my favorites and encourage readers to identify others. “To be honest with you….” suggests that all conversation prior to that phrase was a lie; NOW you commit to truth? I once saw on a menu in a Midwestern state an opportunity to eat roast beef drenched in “au jus sauce;” this reminded me of my friend Adam Burch’s regular allusions to the California Redundancy Department of California. “Baited breath” may be useful if you want to snap trout out of the Big Thompson with your teeth; bated breath comes from Shakespeare. Irrespective of what you may think or hear, “irregardless” grates at good English like a fingernail on a blackboard. “Unique” is singular; it cannot be modified in any way. If my nose is “literally buried in a book” how can I breathe? When I was a cub reporter for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette the city editor, surmising my deep talent, routinely assigned obits, where an unanticipated passing was never referred to as “sudden.” “All deaths are sudden,” he asserted. “Too many are unexpected.” And when told to never end a sentence with a preposition Winston Churchill reportedly snapped back, “This is something up with which I will not put.” The ongoing struggle between “descriptivists” (how language IS used) and “prescriptivists” (how language should be used) reflects a healthy debate; English continues to evolve and shows no sign of calcifying. I find reason in both camps, depending on the linguistic situation. My goal is clarity in language, communicating effectively and reducing possibilities of misunderstanding. I favor nuance and subtleties over basketball movie conversations where every word is “Dude.” Aspiring to lucidity when wielding the English language can help us thwart what Mr. Churchill labeled “terminological inexactitude.” Next column: Exits and Entrances. Estes. Park Nice town. Nice people. Reader response welcome: ATL7522@gmail.com
Speak The Speech
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